The Rule of Fear. Luke Delaney
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pub. It was a stone’s throw from the police station and therefore guaranteed to be popular with the local uniformed officers so long as the drinks were reasonably priced and place was kept clean; whereas the local CID preferred to hide themselves away in more far-flung watering holes, out of sight of indiscreet eyes. The pub was already busy and noisy with the late shift, but he found his small team easily enough, standing apart at the far end of the bar. He eased his way through the crowd and made his way over to them where he was greeted with smiles all round.
‘I thought you’d bailed on us,’ Brown accused him.
‘Just had to finish up some paperwork,’ he explained.
‘Drink?’ Renita asked.
‘Of course,’ he told her. ‘Lager – a pint. Anything that’s not Australian.’
‘That’ll be the Heineken then.’ She pushed her way to the bar, getting served almost immediately despite the men who’d been waiting before her.
‘Shame about having to hand over the burglary prisoners,’ Brown reminded him.
King couldn’t be sure if he was just making conversation or setting something up. ‘Couldn’t be helped,’ he answered. ‘Aggravated burglary’s a CID matter.’
‘Still,’ Brown eyed him, ‘would have been nice to keep hold of a job like that – take it all the way to court.’
‘We could have dealt with it,’ Williams joined in. ‘The job was as good as done anyway. We had the prisoners, the property. What else was there left to do?’
‘Interviews,’ King pointed out, ‘forensics, paperwork, pump them about other burglaries they may have committed. If we’d taken it on we’d be tied up in the station for the next two or three days. Better to let the CID have it so we can get on with patrolling the estate.’
‘Or maybe the CID just didn’t trust you to put the job together properly.’ Brown smiled unpleasantly just as Renita turned back towards them handing King his drink.
‘Maybe,’ he told Brown as he took the drink. ‘Thanks.’
‘You’re welcome. Everything all right?’ she asked.
‘Everything’s fine,’ he assured her.
‘Aye,’ agreed the still smiling Brown. ‘Everything’s fine.’
‘Drink up then, Sarge,’ Williams encouraged him.
‘On the streets it’s Sarge,’ King explained. ‘In the pub it’s Jack.’
‘Fair enough,’ Williams nodded, happy to oblige, as were the others. ‘And here’s to a solid start.’ They all raised their glasses and took a drink before King spoke again.
‘It’s been OK,’ he pulled them back, ‘but it could have been better.’
‘You think,’ Renita asked. ‘How exactly?’
‘The burglars were good arrests – very good,’ he admitted, ‘but they weren’t locals. They weren’t faces. I doubt anyone on the estate even knew them. Probably glad to see the back of them. No one wants to see a couple of loose cannons running around with knives and baseball bats committing aggravated burglaries. Not even our delightful locals. As much as we can, we need to keep our efforts concentrated on the indigenous wildlife. Only that’ll bring the estate to heel.’
‘Aye, maybe,’ Brown partly agreed, ‘but it could have been even better if we took the gloves off a bit. It’s all very well and good sticking to the rules, but I don’t see the local slags playing by any rules. Maybe we should even the game up a little, know what I mean?’
‘No,’ King forbade it. ‘I told you – neatening things up is one thing. Anything other than that is not acceptable. We’re better than that. We keep our integrity.’
‘Whatever you say,’ Brown said in a sulk.
‘You’ve got a lot to say for yourself,’ Renita told Brown. ‘For someone who hasn’t had an arrest on the Unit yet.’
‘Yeah, that’s right,’ Williams joined in. ‘The only one who hasn’t.’ Everybody smiled but Brown.
‘Yeah well,’ he defended himself, ‘enjoy it while you can. Won’t be long before I’m top dog.’
‘Come on,’ King ended Brown’s humiliation. ‘Drink up. It’s my round.’
King felt something rocking him and dreamt he was on a small boat lost in a large sea until Sara’s voice broke through his tiredness and the remains of the alcohol and he realized he was in his own bed in his own flat with very much his own stinking hangover.
‘Time to get up,’ she told him unsympathetically loudly. ‘You’ll be late.’
He sat upright too quickly, the sudden movement of blood in his head making him feel like he was back on the boat. ‘Shit,’ he complained as he grabbed his head in both hands. ‘What time is it?’
‘Almost nine,’ she said without looking at him. ‘Good night, was it?’
He ignored her sarcasm, but could tell she was enjoying herself. ‘Why didn’t you wake me up?’
‘I’m not your keeper,’ she laughed.
‘Ahh, Christ,’ he complained as nausea crept up on him, making her laugh all the more.
‘And it’s a bit early to be celebrating your success, isn’t it?’ she warned him. ‘A few days on that toilet of an estate – a few arrests and you think the job is done. I don’t think so. You may be the talk of the borough right now, but you’ve got a long way to go before I for one will be convinced. Now I’m off to do some real police work. I’m on one of the response cars again. Some of us have to cover the whole borough – not just one estate. Being the superstar that everyone thinks you are, I’m sure you’re capable of getting your own breakfast.’ She kissed him on the forehead and swaggered out the bedroom, while all he could do was flop back onto the bed and let out a groan of misery.
King entered the Unit’s small office at Canning Town and found Renita and Brown already in full kit and ready to yet again take on the estate. Both somehow managed to look considerably better than he felt, despite having all left the Trafalgar at the same time. They passed knowing glances at each other and smiled at his misfortune, for the first time making him suspect they’d spiked at least one of his drinks. Still, he’d enjoyed the sensation of numbness and the sleep that was free of his usual nightmare.
‘Morning, Sarge,’ Renita grinned from ear to ear. ‘You look well.’
‘Very funny,’ he told her, pulling a face.
‘You wanna be more like me,’ Brown unhelpfully advised him. ‘Trained soldier, me. Take more than a few bevvies to bring me down.’
‘I’m fine,’ he lied. ‘Nothing a decent brew won’t sort out.’
‘I’ll get the kettle on,’ Renita came to his rescue, heading for the old kettle in the corner of the office they’d commandeered from nobody quite knew where. She was in the process of filling it with water from a tiny, dilapidated sink when a gentle knock on the doorframe of the office halted her. They all looked in the direction of the disturbance to see Inspector Joanne Johnston standing in the entrance to the office – her green cat-eyes darting between King, Renita and Brown, as if she was deciding which mouse to pounce on first.
‘Good morning, everybody,’ she said cheerfully, if a little drily. They murmured good mornings in return, but still Johnston didn’t enter. ‘Just thought I’d call by and congratulate everyone on the excellent start you’ve made. You’re quite the talk of the Senior Management